


Only leave when I'm looking

by thelikelylad



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, other relationship tags to be added - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-10 08:30:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3283766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelikelylad/pseuds/thelikelylad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story in which Oikawa Tooru did not start with falling in love with Iwaizumi Hajime but cutting off ties with him. That and Ushijima Wakatoshi actually has a heart and a weakness in this one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

\- Iwa-chan, do you know that feeling?

\- What feeling?

\- When you wanted something for so long, and suffered so much for it, then you finally had it, all for yourself. That feeling.

\- Ecstasy?

A faint chuckle was heard and Iwaizumi strained his eyes to catch the sight of long slim fingers brushing through a brown mess of soft hair.

  
\- I don’t know its name, Iwa-chan. How would I?

  
Oikawa smiled at the moon, through a canopy of branches and leaves. His words lingered like a fine thread of silk carefully circling among the sharp sounds of crickets punching into the darkness. Sudden wind came gushing, distorting the figure and sounds of Iwaizumi’s childhood friend. When it stopped and everything became still again, all he could see was Oikawa Tooru standing right in front of him, half-lidded eyes, half-parted lips and hair barely falling back into place. Iwaizumi felt like _everything was becoming something else_ in slow motion. In the silver lights of that summer’s full moon, he could see every tiny flutter of Oikawa’s long lashes, every movement of his lips and every strand of hair dangling itself on the bridge of his nose. He did not want to blink, but his tired eyelids could not win against the wind so he did. And when Iwaizumi opened his eyes again, Oikawa was still there but he was beaming at him, head tilted in an exaggerating way and hands in pockets.

  
\- Iwa-chan, it makes me feel sick when you look at me that lovingly.

  
Ah, typical Oikawa hyperbole again. It was like he had sloughed off that faint transforming image of himself before it could even come to be something recognizable. Iwaizumi was not even sure if it was a real thing or a real moment in a real dimension, but he saw hint of sadness, real sadness. And he almost missed it immediately.

  
It was a strange occurrence, in the way that the night did not even seem to have ever been. The next day, none of the events happened to Iwaizumi fell out of his daily routine. And things were in order in the day after that, and the day after and the days of the week after and all days of all months after. He jogged to school with Oikawa, slapped him a few times on the way, then had classes with that same Oikawa constantly jabbing at his back with his pencil, so he almost punched him in the face another couple of times. At 11.30, they would have lunch together and he would snort at Oikawa’s obsession with bread milk but still exchanged a few bites of his omelets for a taste of vague dry sweetness. Then some girls would ask Oikawa if he wanted their homemade bento but he would only take what the first girl who asked gave him and proceeded to, charmingly, compliment her cooking before his tongue even register the flavour. And in the afternoon, they would go to their volleyball practice after school. Oikawa would be serving, tossing and waving (at the small group of girls whose voices were the equivalent of their entire cheering squad in a game against Shiratorizawa) all at the same time. Iwaizumi, too, would be spiking, tossing and ace-serving balls to Oikawa’s head all at the same time. And when practice finished, Oikawa would linger around just a bit to pick on the first-years because he was an immature asshat. He was always a nicer jerk to Kunimi though, since “He’s like our lovechild, Iwa-chan. He’s pretty but so grumpy.” And Iwaizumi would personally drag their pathetic excuse of a captain through the door so that the first years would be able to finish cleaning up and he would be able to get home in time for his bath (because that one time when he let his dad and brother use it first, it was almost an traumatizing experience). But he would settle for a plain and simple shower if it took more efforts to handle Oikawa when he had too much fun. That he would not go home before Oikawa did was the only constant. In retrospect, Iwaizumi really did never leave without Oikawa, except for when the idiot overworked himself to the point of collapsing before their second match against Shiratozari, his second match against Ushijima. Oikawa’s sister came to pick him up early that day. It was such an excruciatingly long and soundless walk back home Iwaizumi could almost feel his eyes sweat. The next day, he head butted Oikawa after practice and dragged him home with him.

  
In hindsight, Iwaizumi should have talked to his friend more. He listened too much and asked too little. Most of the time, it was one of the merits of their friendship. But not that time, that one time. Because the following day of what seemed like a normal day, without a warning, Oikawa vanished.

  
“Why did you look so sad back then?”

  
Iwaizumi really should have asked.

 

\---------

 

 _“24 sure is a confusing age."_ , Iwaizumi decides as he finds himself still in a sea of paper. He graduated a few months ago with a degree in Education and started working at this prestigious cram school almost at the same time. Life is on the right track, or a normal track if he has to brutally honest to himself. He is on the way to achieve everything a man his age is supposed to: a decent job that pays well, friends that are not only capable of taking him home after long bar-hoping nights, but also of enjoying really good ramen with him in silence at lunch, and a girlfriend that is understanding enough to expect nothing from him when it’s exams season and affectionate enough to fight with him occasionally about things so trivial they’d lead right into great make-up sex afterwards. While it lacks the dramatic events that are worth documenting, it is a satisfying sort of lifestyle. Yet, Iwaizumi is puzzled by his unwillingness to just enjoy it at times. When he thinks about it, really thinks about it, Iwaizumi feels like everything he has right now is just a backup plan of another life. A force of nature, or his mother, must have planned it ahead for him and he let them carry him along on a perfect straight line. Sometimes, it almost feels like there is another person in his body who does his job for him, drinks with his friends for him and holds his girlfriend’s hand for him. And he’s the separate soul that just quietly follows along while looking into another version of the present. Yet, he has always made sure not to carelessly tread into it for the other present seems to be filled with either grey ashes or grimy downpours. He sees no one in it, just a shadow of something, or someone. Iwaizumi probably has a good idea of who that could be but he always shakes the vision off his mind at that exact thought. He is not sure about his life all the time but it is most likely a good idea that he gets himself back to it before the shadow turns into a loud and clear image. After all, _nothing good will ever come out of the past_.

  
But even life has to go off track sometimes. And one day, Iwaizumi is forced out of his perfect metaphorical train route of life, onto a rollercoaster ride he is supposed to fall off from a long time ago.

  
 ** _“Shit.”_** is all Iwaizumi could utter when he sees Oikawa taking refuge from a merciless downpour in front of his school’s café in a late summer afternoon. It is meant to be a typical bad-weather day. Patches of grey holes sucking in white thin smokes of clouds, relentless painful July shower, monotonously dark green leaves torn off their home branches, thrown into strong sudden wind and small scattering human beings hunching under layers of hard drops, all these elements come together in a bleak painting of Iwaizumi’s 24th summer. But Oikawa is leaning against the glass wall of the café, dampened brown curls placid on pale skin and broad but bony shoulders shrunk in shivers. Just as big brown eyes glance up to scan the dozens of individuals on the street, all other images but him, even the cold hard rain and concrete pavement, start to melt into spots of plain colours under the heat of Iwaizumi’s 17th summer memories. Each and every sound is gone the moment his childhood friend’s gaze lands on his own from across the street. Five meters away from Oikawa, Iwaizumi’s rigid standing figure is the blatant stillness amidst the thousands of movements that the rain, the wind and everything against them are making. His feet has sunk into the grey ground, all over which hundreds of white paper sheets are dropped, and his umbrella is awkwardly dangling upside down from his left hand.

  
All is nothing but a pulsating silence.

  
Just when Iwaizumi is waken up by the searing cold sensation sipping through his white shirt, a black car pulls up just outside the café. At this point, Iwaizumi eye-lids are tugged down so hard by the heavy raindrops that he could only make out blurry picture in a furious attempt not to shut his eyes completely. But he could recognize the tall figure that has just got out of the car and is walking briskly to Oikawa anywhere, under any condition. He is the same man, no, boy, Iwaizumi was trained to win against throughout his whole school life. And he was also Oikawa’s burning weakness. But _what is life without a twist_? Because that same boy is wrapping Oikawa in his clothed left arm and walking him back to the car. Iwaizumi almost wills himself to shut his eyes and just stop believing any part of this is real until Oikawa suddenly looks in his direction and very slowly opens his mouth in an exaggerating manner to shout out something that is immediately muted by the numbing noise of the rain. Iwaizumi gets it anyway. It is an instant reflex for him to get just whatever comes out of that damned mouth.

  
“Iwa-chan, see _you_ around.”

  
With peace sign, sticking tongue and all that.

  
“That fucker.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lev is in the house. And Kuroo is a writer and the best friend anyone could ever have. On the other hand, Iwaizumi has led himself to believe that Oikawa and Ushijima are indeed dating. His proof is a fragment of the past that he has long forgotten.

When the world does not make sense, Iwaizumi copes by slamming his whole front body on his leather sofa. The squeaky sound his face makes when he squishes it against the worn out cover and the pleasant chill on his skin as his half-revealed torso comes in contact with the bouncy sofa strangely calm him down every time life acts up. But even an extra minute of face rubbing does not cut it today, and Iwaizumi is currently contemplating drowning himself in icy water to get rid of the fuming irritation welling up in his whole person. “ _Oikawa? Oikawa with Ushijima_?”. This is just downright disturbing.

“Wow, for once, Iwaizumi Hajime-kun looks thoroughly fucked.”

His roommate sashays into the room, solemnly stating the condition of Iwaizumi to no audience in particular. He is probably wearing nothing but a smirk so glaringly visible Iwaizumi could see it with his eyes closed and his brain shut.

“Shit. You’re right.”

Oh, there’s an audience. Slurry Japanese, excitement oozing out of strangely high-pitched voice, and a figure so long its looming shadow over Iwaizumi makes he feel nauseous, that’s definitely him-who-no-one-needs-to-deal-with-at-times-like-this. Or preferably, no times at all. So Iwaizumi does the only smart thing there is to do, that is pushing his face deeper into the sofa as if his whole presence would be swallowed up into the leathery void and eventually, those two people would just leave him alone.

“So who’s the fucker?”

No luck this time then. Iwaizumi can actually hear the smirk in disguise of a whisper right into his left ear. He turns half of his face towards the direction where that question comes from and keeps the other half nicely pressed into the cool leather skin. He needs to feel at least semi-comfortable to deal with this person.

“You’ve been saying “fuck” for a while now. Aren’t you supposed to have good vocabulary?”

“I do and I think “fuck” is just the perfect word to describe you right now.”

Iwaizumi can’t argue with that.

“It’s...ugh..Oi..kawa.” His whole face has now become one with the sofa.

There’s a silence, followed by a very loud snap of fingers. He forgot how amazing his roommate’s memory was for a moment until the asshole recites his whole dark past and sums up the whole being of Oikawa Tooru in one sentence.

“You mean the setter babe who’d drained every drop of energy out you until he just upped and left you broken hearted right before your graduation.”

The events are accurately listed but that sounds anything but right.

“Kuroo, again, he’s _not_ my ex-boyfriend.”

Iwaizumi finally raises himself up and inclines his back slightly to let the sofa supports his weight while he throws a minor kick at said Kuroo’s head. He always does this to shut the offending individual up whenever he feels like he cannot win against him in a verbal one-on-one, which is, sadly, a frequent happening. Sometimes, the feeling of wild spiky bed hair against his socked foot is the only thing that makes him feel powerful in the presence of Kuroo, which he does not mind as much as he should. He’s been sharing this flat with the lanky Tokyo boy for as long as his post-Oikawa life goes. The sole fact that Kuroo is also self-centred and manipulative like his childhood friend but at the same time, a hundred times more capable of taking care of himself and making good decisions is the one factor that keeps him close to Iwaizumi after all these years. The other facts, including his vigorous libido that leads to strange faces going in and out of their apartment more often than Kuroo himself goes to work, make it a continued struggle throughout the same period of time, though. And recently, the freelance writer who’s also his part-time freeloader has taken to a very loud individual who is one year away from graduation and consistently one minute away from death under Iwaizumi's hands. Haiba Lev is an unnecessarily tall kid whose daddy is Japanese and mommy is Russian, which sorta explains his exotic green eyes. But he has been living in Japan ever since he started to have memories, which never explains his poor Japanese listening comprehension that is literally just him picking up keywords he likes to hear and concocting a whole new meaning to other people’s conversation.

"So your pretty ex-boyfriend fucked you to this state?"

The other thing about Lev is that he always lives up to Iwaizumi’s expectation.

“No.God. No. Why can’t you just listen to other people properly for once?” Says the grown man in distress who now has his head between his hands and legs up against his chest to protect himself from all the bullshit.

“I can’t and I won’t. Other people would bore me otherwise.” The kid gives Iwaizumi a big grin full of teeth. It’s probably his idea of a smirk.

“Anyways, how did you even meet him? He’s been missing for years.” Kuroo pats on Lev’s head and reduces him to a purring kitten in the progress. Iwaizumi finds it both gross and adorable, but decides to just let go back to focusing on his own matter. He plays the scene of the strange event over and over again in his head to make sure he could report it back to Kuroo as accurately as possible. After an enternity worth of thinking, he finally speaks up.

“He just appeared.” He’s considered all the words and expressions he’s ever learnt and came up with that.

“Do you want to expand further on that yourself or let Lev’s imgination do the job?” Kuroo tilts his head slightly to the left and slides his other hand up Lev’s shoulder to give him an encouraging pat. He never stops petting the kid’s head though.

“Ohohoho...” Clear green eyes shoot sparkles at Iwaizumi’s face.

“Stop imitating Kuroo’s laugh. You’re already annoying as it is.”

“Your answer though?”

“Okay, I saw him outside of The Commune.” Iwaizumi lets out a sigh and tries to re-position himself for the third time. Nothing he does has felt right since this afternoon. It is like feeling itchy in a place you don’t even know if it exists on your own skins. You cannot scratch it, or even touch it but you know that it is real, it is there and that drives you nuts.

“And did you talk?” Kuroo sounds strangely concerned and characteristically, Lev is not even trying to hide his yawn.

“Nope. He was _taken away_.” That is an interesting choice of word but Iwaizumi cannot afford to nitpick himself at the moment.

“By who?”

“Ushijima.”

“Is that the same Ushijima that I’m aware of?”

“I don't know. How many Ushijima do you know?” Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow at his friend and the itchy feeling intensifies all of a sudden.

“Just the one. Volleyball Ushijima?” Kuroo titls his head again, but this time he tries to lightly tap his hand on the troubled guy’s left arm. He kept his stare on the other the entire time, with a smirk on his face. A smirk of consolation.

“Yes. Volleyball Ushijima. He took Oikawa in a car and they just left.”

“Kidnap?”

“I thought you were sleeping, Lev?”

“I’m still listening, you know. So? Was it kidnap?”

“No, it seemed he picked Oikawa up because of the rain.”

“Ugh, I’m sleeping.”

“You’re being extremely rude.” Iwaizumi untangles his legs and puts one of his foot on Lev’s face. This is revenge and good distraction at the same time. The odd satisfaction of nice tight young skins under the palm of his foot momentarily drives his mind away from the very long and very hard stare Kuroo is giving him. Though, a light film of sweat is starting to form under his shirt, and blend into the leftover rain on his skins.

“Don’t give me that look.”

“Oh but you deserve that look.” Kuroo said, finally breaking the eye contact. “You wouldn’t if you had just walked over to him and talked. Now you just have more questions than you already do.”

“I don’t.” Iwaizumi gives Lev’s face one final good rub, then stands up and walks to the kitchen. He has to squeeze himself past the fences of refence books his writer friend have been building up ever since he deemed their shared living room a worthy place to write.

“You don’t care what business he had with Ushijima?”

From where he stands in the kitchen, he can catch a glimpse of black spikes of unruly bed hair rising up from the aging sofa until he meets Kuroo’s eyes. Even from a distance, the bags under his eyes look awful and they’re probably as twice as thick as his eyelids, which, apparently, are so heavy they constantly fall over half of his sockets. But women dig that. They cannot read eyes like that so they probably interpret his stare however they like. _Mysterious. Thoughtful. Deep_. Cold exterior, nondescript face probably tickles people’s fantasy because it’s easy to paint your ideals on blank canvas. So yeah... women dig that. And Iwaizumi just think he looks sleazy.

“Well?” Kuroo waves his hand over his friend’s vision and tries to urge him for answer.

“I have a feeling it’s best I don’t know the answers.” Iwaizumi lets out a dejected sigh. If the eyes-of-a-dead-fish guy just lets him ponder over the so-called charms of his face a bit more, he might have a good chance of fooling himself into oblivion. There are possibilities that he want to pretend they do not exist. Oikawa has been out of his sight for five years, but he had been in his life for a period of time twice as long. Things that the idiot told him, things that he didn’t, Iwaizumi remembers them all. And when he connects the dots, he has his answer.

“They’re probably dating.”

A sharp clashing noise is heard. When he turns back, Lev is clutching his head in his hands and the unobstrusive white coffee table knocked down beside him.

 

\----------

Iwaizumi is back to being 17, unkempt spiky hair slightly ruffled by occasional breezes and tanned skins glistened under the intrusive sunlight. He is standing in a small room that is hardly-furnitured with only a single set of futon neatly put away in the corner, a grey-ish desktop sitting on an aging wooden table and a terribly plain cupboard that completes the look. But if he just shifts his gaze a bit up to the left, he will see it, the only decoration in the room, the voleyball coated with the loud colours of orange of green. This is Oikawa Tooru’s room. No, the 17-year-old Oikawa Tooru’s room.

There is no sight of the assertive owner for silence is the only other presence in this room with Iwaizumi. But he feels different, intoxicated and out of control. His mind is awake but it is a body of its own and his hands and feet belong to another. “ _This is bad_.” His mind seems to say as he squats down and reaches for the second drawer of the cupboard from the bottom up. “ _I shouldn’t be doing this_.” His mind screams the loudest it can. But his hand swiftly opens the drawer with ease and determination. “ _This is wrong. I have..to.. re..respect.. Oikawa’s privacy._ ” His minds cries out to his whole body. Unnervingly, his hand takes out the bundles of clothes and tries to reach further in until it feels cold plastic cover under its palm. His mind has finally been shut down, exshauted by its own will. So Iwaizumi has no trouble getting the object out of the darkest corner of its home.

It is probably due to the fact that his mind is not working anymore that he can’t seem to read the title of _the book_ , even though all the letters stand proud and strong in blazing white ink. But he knows what it is about. The cover has two male symbols drawn very neatly next to each other, without the intrusion of a pink venus sign like that book of the same type that his brother hid under his bed. He puts the book back in exact corner it is supposed to be, stuffs the clothes back in the same hasty manner its owner did and snaps the drawer closed. He does all of these very mechanically and precisely. Because this is all just his body. His mind has chosen to shut its eyes.

 

\---------

Iwaizumi wakes up with his head bursting in pain and his dream last night still vivid behind his eyelids. To think that he only dreamt about what happened so many years ago now... “ _that’s just too convenient_.”

At 10.30, he forces himself out of bed and gives his face a good thorough rub and two extra slaps on both sides. He now has other duties to fulfil: students to teach, the board of the school to please, friends to deal with and a girlfriend to take to dinner tonight. This is not highschool anymore. Oikawa Tooru does not get to be his priority.

Except, Oikawa Tooru seems hell-bent on being his priority.

He is suddenly everywhere. And it’s not even metaphorically. He is running towards the train Iwaizumi always takes to work just as the door snaps shut. He is dashing out of The Commune with a paper cup of cofee on his hand and a quick smile on his face just when Iwaizumi walks into the door with Sugawara, the school’s literature teacher because he always needs his caffeine intake before a night class at 6. Then, he is jogging past newish two-story houses near the school with a bunch of elemntary kids carrying a net bag full of volleyballs just as Iwaizumi and Lev go get lunch at their go-to ramen store. (“ _Wow, he is damn pretty, Iwaizumi-san_.” Lev later comments while they wait in line for the restaurant because apparently, all the salary men in this part of the town seem to share the same taste as theirs.)

Iwaizumi does not neccessarily have to count all of Oikawa’s appearances but he is a Math teacher and his brain spits out number even in his dream so yes, he is aware that he has seen his childhood friend in passing 5 times since the rainy afternoon. It is odd, but at the same time, not as irritating as it should be, which baffles Iwaizumi to be honest. He is supposed to be enraged, hurt and possibly violent (just the right amount like when they were back in the team and Oikawa dared to take team matches as his solo battle). But the more he sees Oikawa, all lively and well, the more feelings of relief and nostagia wash over him. To be frank, he was mad during the first year, depressed even in the next but the longer the idiot’s disappearance went on, the more outrageous scenarios started to fill up his head. “He could have died somewhere. A painful and horrible death.” was, not surprisingly, one of the most dreadful but frequent theory that he always came back to in days so gloomy, he escaped from reality by turning to his even more awful past. Besides, Kuroo was re-reading one of his favourite book at the time and it didn’t help that he kept using a quote that goes along the line of something like “ _Theories could be reality when there’s no evidence to counter it_.” in their daily conversation.

So when he sees Oikawa sitting idly at a table outside The Commune wearing a light blue t-shirt with his sleeves rolled up unevenly on the two sides, nonchalantly showing hint of muscles on arms that are just a tad bit skinnier than the last time Iwaizumi grabbed on them, he decides that he should come up to him and say more than just “hi”. Initially, the other boy does not see him striding along as he keeps on playing with his chestnut-dyed curls while looking far ahead through his amber sunglasses. Those are very hideous glasses and ridiculously huge on Oikawa’s small face. His smooth and rather chubby cheeks just cannot support the whole weight of those glasses so they keep sliding down his nose, which seems to annoy Oikawa to no end. Iwaizumi chuckles a bit when he gets closer because he can see his friend furiously trying to push them up and mumbling curses at them.

“Why don’t you just take them off, _dumbass_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I planned to write a longer chapter but if I continued now, I would have to write more about Ushijima, which would take me another week or so. And I wanted to introduce Suga in this chapter but I wrote Lev instead. He was an unexpected character, even to me. He wasn't supposed to even be in the story. But he is just too cute I had to include him. Naturally, Nekoma is my favourite team so the whole team may gradually get into the plot somehow.
> 
> Again, thanks for reading <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ushijima loves two things, one of which guarantees him a consistently high winning rate, the other induces frequent headaches and a potential heartbreak.

Ushijima quietly unlocks the door, bends down just a little to take off his shoes and walks into the room trying to make as little noise as any two-feet moving statue could. It has been a day as long as any other day of his is. Waking up at 5, jogging around the neighbourhood, showering, cooking breakfast (two brown toasts for a regular day and an extra white with a complimentary layer or butter spread on one side for a match day, sometimes coffee and sometimes juice and occasionally energy drink, but always sunny-side egg that is burnt on the back but runny all over the front), going to college, going to practice, having lunch with people if they want to enjoy their food in silence and alone if they don’t, which doesn’t matter because others’ company does not factor in his meal’s nutritious value, then attending afternoon classes while taking a nap with his eyes open, going back to practice and going home before 6.30, this is Ushijima’s daily routine and he goes through the same cycle every day. Other people would go insane doing the same things each and every day but Ushijima is strictly a creature of habits and order. Knowing in the back of his mind that there is a plan for every future ahead of him, be it tomorrow or the next 5 years, keeps him a calm and sane person. When there’s a chance for unexpected happenings, he loses balances and then it is easy for feelings, both hidden and foreign, to take control over Ushijima and he becomes someone he has never planned to be and may never get used to being at all. That is after 7PM, after he gets home and Oikawa happens, just like the tides of the seven seas back at their hometown, always in time but sometimes low, sometimes high, sometimes weak, sometimes strong. And Ushijima is that proud sand castle on the shore, always so meticulously built throughout the day, yet so willing to let itself be washed away at night.

 

It is ten to seven when he glances at the clock on the wall, just slightly above their TV. Ushijima still has a bit of time – his time- left to linger around the kitchen, drinking a glass of water straight from the pipe with his plain white t-shirt already yanked off and thrown over his shoulder. As the stream of cool water slides over his tongue, into his throat, his adam apple aglow with the glaring street light invading the entire flat through their curtain-less windows. Up and down. Up then down. Even the tiniest movement of Ushijima’s body is as precise as a clock’s hand. The proud and ancient type.

When he finishes the very last drop of that delicious water, he puts the cup back on the dining table and watches it settle down on the cold glass surface for a minute. Ushijima is not the type to think much about unanimated objects because after all, they are equal as long as they serve their purpose well. But he does like this particular cup. It is completely white and appearance-wise, as unintriguing as any of its kind. Yet, Oikawa dropped it once and it did not break. In fact, not a single scratch could be found on the ceramic skin. Ultimately, it is one of those few things that refused to bend out of shape or crumple under the hand of that boy. So every time Ushijima drinks from that cup, be it cool water after an intense practice session or dreadfully bitter coffee during exam season or diet coke that tastes like 3-week-old liquid sugar, he instantly feels relieved. Anything drunk from that cup offers Ushijima the same sensation as the determined nod of a team mate when they get to their match point.

“You and me both, boy. You and me both.” Ushijima would always say tracing his finger all over the surface where the cup hit the floor when Oikawa dropped it. Not a single scratch.

 

\-----

As soon as Ushjima manages to put on his light purple polo shirt on, the clock in his bedroom goes off with a dying beeping sound that lasts no longer than five seconds. It is approximately seven o’clock in the evening. The alarm is more of a ritual than a necessity because the moment Ushijima gets home, he starts counting down. In fact, the clock is set 10 seconds sooner than the real time so that he can be the one in charge of those last few seconds. He needs no one and nothing to remind him of seven o’clock in the evening.

“ _Time is just a concept, Ushiwaka-chan_.” Oikawa said to him one day when they were both in bed, bare bodies covered by trench coats and sweat-veiled napes rested on bundles of scarves. It was ten to five in the afternoon and Ushijima had yet to buy that alarm clock.

“No, Tooru, _it_ is a thing I can feel in my palms.” He said putting long calloused fingers over the boy’s eyes until he felt eyelashes flutter down and eyelids shut behind them.

That was what he told him three years ago when they first moved in and the only furniture was a bed that had clearly been made to be shared by petite lovers who would hug so hard in their sleep, they could melt into one. But they were giant athletes –one active, the other retired- and Ushijima could only sleep with his back laying straight on the surface, eyes staring on the ceiling until he blacked out. So eventually, it became Oikawa’s bed and he slept on the guest futon until they could afford another bed for him (it is still strange how they got a guest futon before a sofa, a cooker or anything else). Around the end of their first year in the flat, Oikawa started to work a lot of part-time jobs and earned so much money he could fill in his room with a hundred of different things and by the end of New Year holiday, there was so much of him in that room that Ushijima began to feel like he was intruding every time he came in. So he started knocking in February, and three weeks after Oikawa’s birthday, he realised that they then could spend a whole night in their own room, without ever bumping into each other in the shared area and in fact, they had already done that in a while. But it still took him less than five knocks on the door for the other to open it and let him in, sometimes with a hug, the other time with a sudden kiss but never with disinterested stare. So Ushijima just carried on with his life taking note only of the pattern that Oikawa would always be in his room when he came back after practice. They may live in separated privacy but he knows where to look for the chestnut-haired boy and he is sure of when he can knock on his door expecting an answer. Nothing has ever been particularly out of order. And today shall be another example of such a lifestyle.

“ _Tooru_.” Ushijima calls out between the second of third knock.

“Hey.” The door is slightly open after the third. There is no kiss or hug today but a slump back to the direction of his eyes the minute Ushijima lets himself in.

“Is there something wrong?” He asks while quickly scanning the room to find an appropriate seat for a conversation. They usually talk in the living room, eat in the kitchen and have sex on Ushijima’s bed or the sofa depending on how quick Oikawa wants his pants off. In this room, though, they just exchange “hi” and ritual affectionate gestures. But Oikawa is retreating back into his blanket with his door still open for Ushijima, which makes it an invitation to sit on something and just keep the conversation going. He used to be clueless at subtle things like this, but he has been given enough time to get better.

“No, I’m just a bit tired.” Oikawa finally sits up on his bed, brown curls a mass of tangles and hands hidden in the blanket on his lap.

“Kunimi told me you took the kids on a different route today. Was it a longer jog?” Ushijima decided to sit next to the other boy on his bed and restrain himself from ruffling up that beautiful mess on his head. It is indeed difficult, so he tries distracting himself by playing with the hem of the blankets. Oikawa’s eyes instantly follows his hand.

“Yea, we ran a bit more today.”

“Where were you jogging?”

“Oh, I just took a left on the first intersection we crossed. Turned out it did lead back to the school. But it took us an extra 15-minute walk because I was not really familiar with the area.” Oikawa stretches his arms above his head, inclines his head to the side and naturally reveals the tip of his left ear as his hair falls onto his forehead and left eye. He has also stopped staring at Ushijima’s hand on the blanket.

“I know that area. They have a good ramen shop.” He comments, head looking up and eyes staring directly into Oikawa’s.

“You know everything, Ushikawa-chan. That’s annoying.”

“I don’t and it’s not like I can guarantee not getting lost there.”

“You always talk like this only to me. That’s more annoying.”

“Like what?”

“Pretending to be not sure of yourself?”

“Do I?”

“Yes, you do. You’re the person who told poor Tobio-chan to screw off because he _would never_ be able to toss balls to the perfect you. You also said there was no point in going for a jog with your team because they _would never_ be able to catch up with you. When Kunimi first joined your current team and asked you to take care of him in the future, even though that was a polite greeting for the sake of greeting only, you told him he wouldn’t even need that seeing how he _would hardly_ be able to stand on the same court as you. But you’re telling me you could get lost in a place where you may have been to countless times because you always come back to a good shop and order the same thing over and over again. Remember when we used to have the same sandwich for lunch in a month just because I said I liked the taste once and you were in charge of food because of my leg injury?”

“Did you see him today too?”

“What? Who?”

“Iwaizumi Hajime.”

Oikawa looks straight into Ushijima’s eyes for the first time today. His eyes opened wide, his lashes tremble visibly against the will to blink, and his lips form a tight line slightly curling downwards. There is no water threatening to drop out of the corner of his eyes but his upper lip quickly points up enhancing the parallel lines of his cupid bow like it always does when he tries to stifle a loud sob.

“Why is it suddenly about him?”

Ushijima contemplates his answer a fleeting second, He could just say nothing now, then walk out of this room –where he is never meant to be in this long- and leave Oikawa alone for today. It is not the first time Oikawa has attempted to make an enemy out of him during their whole time living together and even before all this, but he always comes back with many kisses and no recollection of his own outburst the next day or several nights after. Today could just be another example of such a lifestyle.

“It has always been about _him_.” But today is not. Today, Ushijima’s skins is not coated with boldly white and invincible ceramic.

 

\------------

“Iwa-chan, I’m dating Ushjima Wakatoshi.”

Oikawa pushes his sunglasses harder on his nose bridge, his hands still laying firmly on the table and his shoulder rigidly straightenned up into the posture of a child warily waiting for his mother’s scolding after coming clean about a broken cup. His coffee seems untouched, his hair has become a nest for tiny fallen leaves and his upper lip slightly curls upwards. Iwaizumi can see everything but his eyes through the reflective lenses of his sunglasses.

“Alright then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Ushijima seems hopeless in this relationship based on what you read in this chapter but i assure you that they're both equally in love with each other. At least, that's how it is up until this point of the story. When your relationship seems that dysfunctional but you're still together and you're individuals like Ushijima and Oikawa, all the reasons lead back to love.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! XD This is not long but I think it's better to end here. Also, these first three chapters have been more like "introductory chapters" to get you into the mentality of the two main characters and how they see Oikawa. So, starting from the next chap, I'll thrown in more events and get the plot move faster ^o^


	4. Chapter 4

“You don’t ask why?” Oikawa says. He is nearly baffled at how quick he raises that question and how unsettled he feels out of the blue, as if his childhood friend’s reaction to his relationship status was a sight of betrayal. He tries to read Iwaizumi’s expression through the lenses. But, it is not easy trying to familarize himself with a face that has matured so much compared to the one on that photo Oikawa put inbetween random pages of his third-year math textbook in a box hidden so far into the corner under his bed it is now caked in dust and tiny corpses of homeless insects. It is even more so when there’s darkness clouding his vision.

Instead of giving him an answer, Iwaizumi abruptly stands up from his chair, reaching out towards Oikawa in a motion so quick he can barely react at all. His chair starts to sway to the sides a bit when he squirms in his seat trying to defend himself from another spurprise. In a swift movement, Iwaizumi takes Oikawa’s glasses away and his eyes are hit with the intense brightness of a summer morning. As a reflex, he immediately lowers his head, squints his eyes and looks for a darker shade of colours. The first image that is not distorted he sees is the white coffee table dappled with spots of sunlight and shadows in the shapes of leaves and branches.

“Your glasses are so ugly.” Iwaizumi comments nonchalantly from across the table. His voice sounds exactly like he used to when they were seventeen.

“But I’m beautiful and that’s all what matters.” Oikawa retorts with a classic touch of self-absorption, his eyes still tracing shadows on the table.

“You’re not though, if you keep wearing these.”

“Then I am now?”

Hands effortlessly brushing his bangs to the side, Oikawa looks up in quite a dramaticway. As soon as their eyes meet, he tilts his head ever so slightly to the left exerting himself to keep his lids still in the precise midpoint between wide open and completely shut eyes and his lips slowly fixing into a graceful smirk that he is perfectly sure he was born with. He is doing a good job of imitating the seventeen year-old Oikawa Tooru.

“If you say so.”

Unreadable face, nonexistent change of expressions, unnerving voice, eyebrows that have yet to raise high enough to reach the hairline on his forehead, and ambiguous reply dripping with sarcastic undertone, this is clearly not seventeen-Iwaizumi. This is someone else, someone who is charismatic, confident and calm even in the presence of one whole Oikawa Tooru.

“Where did you learn to smirk, Iwa-chan?”

Folding his arms in front of his chest and turning his head completely to the left, Oikawa huffs irritably. If Iwaizumi is still good at taking hints, he should know he is no longer worthy of a full front view of Oikawa’s beautiful face.

“From the guy I’m sharing my flat with.” Iwaizumi states as if it were a fact Oikawa should have expected.

“What guy?” He ventures carefully, retreating to the task of counting shadows of leaves.

“Do I have to tell you?”

Iwaizumi asks back without even the slightest pretense of contemplation over his question. His strange, distant voice is void of emotion suggesting nothing but a cold hard fact.

“I’m entitled to know.” But Oikawa is stubborn by nature. “I’m you’re best friend.” And he is also afraid of things that can change over time.

“Are you now?”

“Am I?”

“No you are not.” Iwaizumi stands up again; his shadow spreads out on the table swallowing up all the leaves, the bony braches and the white spots. Oikawa, with nothing left to distract himself, is forced to look up at the boy feeling trapped between his own childhood friend and his own chair.

“And you are entitled to nothing, Oikawa, nothing. Or did you forget that you chose to disappear from me for five years without so much as a note? You don’t get to just wlatz your way back into my life, with your ugly glasses and perfect hair, and demand to know every detail of my privacy. You don’t get to care. You just don’t.”

Oikawa stops looking at Iwaizumi. He is desperate for something to occupy his vision with, something so great so powerful it can block out the image of his childhood friend gritting his teeth, spitting spiteful words at him, every muscles of his face writhing in rage, and his eyes looking at Oikawa like he is the most vicious thing in this world.

“One leaf, two leaves, three leaves, four-“

“Look at me while I’m talking.” Iwaizumi’s tone of voice falls back to the ice-veiled border between calmness and anger.

But Oikawa feels like crying. It is like his heart had been cut opened so crudely with a butcher’s knife, its flesh gutted out; then someone hastily stuffed Iwaizumi’s venom words into the empty shell and stitched it up with a rusty needle that needs to be punched repeatedly into the skin of his heart to go through it. He feels sick and he feels hopeless.

“Oikawa, you’re not in my life anymore.”

And his heart bursts open.

“Iwa-chan.” He only gets to say his name before a drop of salty water falls out of the corner of his eye, thwarting his attempt to speak. So he does the only thing he can, that is running away. After five years, and it is still his only option.

All the trees on the street merge into a big shadow over his head, swallowing his tiny figure into their void. Oikawa keeps running deeper into it until he sees nothing and hears nothing. Not even the sound of cars honking at him jaywalking, not even the screams in surprise of people he bumps into, and certainly not even Iwaizumi’s shouts of his name.

 

\------

That Iwaizumi feels like shit right now is an understatement. It was the first time he got to talk to his childhood friend in five years and he made him cry ten minutes into their conversation. He tried to reason with himself blaming the whole ordeal on Oikawa’s selfish antics. But then again, they have known each other since they were tiny kindergarten kids and Oikawa has been a living consistency of vainness and self-centredness, which exerted all sorts of violence and emotional outrage from Iwaizumi. Still, they were never the kind that would reduce Oikawa to actual tears (not the water extracted from his eyes for his own convenience at times). 

During the entire length of their relationship, including the five-year mysterious absence, Iwaizumi has never once felt like he was the asshole. Well, maybe he did that one time he told Oikawa he was the only fool in the world to believe in UFO in his sixth birthday, which, now that he thinks about it, did make that boy tear up a bit (“I was six! White lies were not a thing back then!”); or that other time when refused to let Oikawa take refuge in his house after his big fight with his father, and when he went to take out the trash the next morning he found his friend sleeping under the slides at their neighbourhood’s playground (“I was fourteen! I had too much going on for me –puberty, for instance- to be aware of all of his problems!”); and maybe the cultural festival incident, too. 

Senior year cultural festival was a big thing for everyone, including Iwaizumi, he guesses, because that was also the first time he received a confession. “ _Senpai, I really like you_.” Her voice was soft, but determined and clear despite audible trembles. “ _Please go out with me._ ” And when she looked up, her big bright eyes, her cherry-tinted lips, and the way her long black hair flows to the direction of the wind just like how it was in old-school manga, charmed him instantly. So he said yes, to both going out with her and spending the rest of the festival together.

It was so fun, so damn fun he forgot he was supposed to meet Oikawa on the roof to watch the fireworks together. Someone had told him that if he made a wish the moment the fireworks started, it would come true. He was so set on that and everything Oikawa wanted to do, he wanted to do it with Iwaizumi. But there was also another version of that myth, which was any couple who saw the fireworks together would stay together forever, which was clearly the more popular version. Iwaizumi’s first-ever girlfriend wanted to test the theory and he was ready to do everything to keep her interested (“Such a fool I was.”) so they went to the roof to catch the best view. But the minute he opened the door, he saw Oikawa looking straight at him, eyes possibly sparkling with excitement and lips possibly curving into the widest smile ever. 

“Iwa… Oh.”

“Shit. I forgot.”

“This is..?

“Uhm..uh… she’s… my…”

“Girlfriend! I’m Aoki, nice to meet you, senpai.”

“Oh.”

“Oikawa, I’m sorry. I totally for-“

“ _Aoiki-chan_ , you must be here for the fireworks, right?”

“Ah, yes!”

“Then have fun! I won’t bother you lovebirds anymore.”

“Hey, Oikawa-"

“Iwa-chan, _it’s fine_.”

The funny thing is Iwaizumi could recite their whole conversation without missing a single “ah” or “uhm” but he cannot, for the life of him, remember how Oikawa looked that day. Did he smile that annoying smile of his? With his tongue out or without? Did he wink at them both too? What was his face like? How did he actually look? Iwaizumi cannot find a single picture of it even if he digs into the deepest corner of his mind. He just does not have it.

Despite all that, he knew Oikawa was _not_ “fine”. A fine-Oikawa would not have missed that chance to tease him until he died of embarrassment right then and there because “Iwa-chan is so unattractive, not a single girl has ever laid her eyes on you!” But he just dashed out of there as quick as he could and he did not even look at him when their shoulders bumped on his way out. 

“Shit. Did Oikawa cry?” 

“But I was seventeen. I was supposed to care about her more than him. He was just a fr-”

“..he cried, didn’t he?”

That Iwaizumi feels like shit right now is absolutely and squarely an understatement.

 

\-------------

“Kuroo, I thought you were on a date?”

The first thing Iwaizumi sees when he finally manages to drag his soulless body back home is a shirtless and panting Kuroo. Whatever he has done to be looking like this is a question better left unanswered.

“Cancelled.”

As soon as he lands himself on the couch, face first of course, Iwaizumi notices he is not the only one in a bad mood.

“What happened?”

He turns his face to the side, precisely enough to have a good look at his roommate’s facial expressions. Suddenly, all of his problems elude his mind as if trying to leave a blank space for him to note down Kuroo’s potential mishap.

“Nothing. He was busy, I guess.”

“You guess?”

Iwaizumi sits up immediately at the dejected sigh that followed Kuroo’s answer. His wild-hair roommate reacts to his abrupt change of position with a mechanical raise of eyebrow on reflex. He is looking at Iwaizumi, or someone ten yard behind him. His eyes seem unfocused, like they’re there, they’re functioning, blinking and staring, but they’re also not there, they’re somewhere else looking at things in another dimension.

“Oh come on, bestow your tales of misery on me!” Iwaizumi whines, which is very uncharacteristic of him.

“What’s wrong with you?” Kuroo raises one eyebrow at him. His eyes have stopped wandering into a different world, too, and now they’re on him with their utmost attention.

“I made Oikawa cry.” His spontaneous willingness to speak about what could trigger an entire session of Kuroo’s interregotation is also extremely uncharacteristic.

“That’s development~!

Shit. Not _that voice_.

“Lev, since when were you here?” He says, not even bothering to turn around the the source of that irritably high voice.

“I was here before you. Kuroo-senpai called me over for dinner.” Lev shouts from the kitchen as he is obviously rummaging through the cupboard and fridge for something to eat. The volume is unnecessary seeing how they’re practically five steps away from each other.

“Let’s go grab some ramen.” Kuroo decides as soon as he hears strange noises emiiting from where the lanky and lousy kid’s at. “And we’ll listen to that story of yours, Iwa-chan.”

“There’s no story if Lev is coming.” Iwaizumi murmurs into a sofa pillow he must have grabbed to bury his face in the moment he knew the loud mouth was in.

“And don’t call me that.” He adds.

“Okay.” Kuroo looks at him briefly on his way to get a t-shirt and gives him a little nod. He disappears into his room for what feels like a few seconds before coming back out, his worn-out black shirt still only half-way down his torso.

Iwaizumi wonders how people actually find Kuroo that attractive, and, as Lev starts whining about his empty stomach, how Kuroo actually find that unbearable kid a good company. Pointless thinking keeps him calm, gets him up from the sofa and drags him out of the flat. It is strange but whenever Iwaizumi needs to feel less, he thinks more.

 

\---------

They are passing by the traffic light when he sees Oikawa. That guy must be some sort of God. During the time he disappeared, no matter how hard Iwaizumi looked, he was nowhere to be found. Not even a single trace of him was left. It was like he dissolved in to ashes and vanished into the air. But now that he’s back, he’s everywhere.

“Isn’t that _your_ Oikawa?” Lev says to him, hands covering his mouth like it is an uncomfirmed gossip exclusive only to the two of them.

“Yea.” Iwaizumi replies with a silent nod, his eyes kept on the guy across the street. Oikawa is leaning against the traffic light’s metal pole, his head lowering down, eyes on the pavement and hands shoved into his light raincoat’s pocket. Has it been raining? He is not sure but Oikawa would probbaly stand out even without an odd clothing item.

They are only a few meters away from each other but Oikawa does not seem to notice his presence at all. From where he stands, Iwaizumi can see his broad shoulders’ slumping forward like someone has placed a huge bag of the world’s worries on him; his eyes are hidden behind his overgrown bangs but a hint of frown is apparent through the gaps between messy strands of hair (“How the hell did Lev spot him in this condition?”). But what has caught Iwaizumi’s attention the most is the way his upper lip slightly turns up like he is about open his mouth and say something, but his words just could not pass through the barrier made of his teeth biting down on his lip. He does not look like he is crying, again, but he does not look fine.

“Wanna go talk to him?” Kuroo seems to be talking to him. Iwaizumi cannot be sure with all of his focus on Oikawa.

“Yeah, I think I should.” But he answers anyways.

It is then that the light signalling to the walkers to pass is on, with a string of beeping sounds. Oikawa makes no move, standing still, letting people push him side to side as they hurry their steps to pass the road. But Iwaizumi is running as quick as he can, squeezing himself past people walking in the opposite direction. His eyes never leave his childhood friend for one second.

“Hey.” He says between short pants.

Oikawa looks up at him. Since when did he start to feel taller than the guy?

“What are you doing here?” He asks. His eyes are staring directly into Iwaizumi’s challenging him to be any closer than this, but his hands are curling into tight fists, his pinky fingers and thumbs jutted out to meet their counterparts in a tight press. He is nervous.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Iwaizumi trembles a little at the weight of his words.

“What?”

“I don’t know. I just am. I felt like shit after you left this morning. And shitter after I remembered all the unfair things I did to you in the past. Then I saw you, here. And I just couldn’t leave you alone.” Iwaizumi says in one breath losing eloquence as he goes.

“What?”

“I’m just... sorry.” Iwaizumi breathes out his answer and just watches Oikawa’s facial muscles work their way into an expression he saw so many times back in Miyagi, when they were still together ten hours a day and six days a week, but still he could never get used to the way his heart sort of does a very strange thing the second he sees it.

 

_When he was five, his family moved to a house only a short distance to his old home. But the area was totally new to him and so were the neighbours. There was not a single kid around his age near him and he had to play alone, all by himself, whether it was sand castles building or bugs catching, until his mom went home one day, excitedly annouching to him that she had found him a playmate. Three blocks down from his house was a blue two-storey house. In the blue two-storey house was a boy just his age, so small but so vibrant ("So pretty,too".) that the moment they met, his smile made Iwaizumi’s tiny little kindergarten heart do a backflip. Oikawa was like the sun all the time. He was bright and also burning with energy. But sometimes he got upset, sulking over even the most trivial thing ever, which was alright too. Because then Iwaizumi would do something and he would feel better and his smile afterwards was the equivalent of rainbow after a heavy rain. Considering how the weather was in the summer back then, rainbow was no strange occurence. But it was one of those things that never got less beautiful no matter how many times little Iwaizumi saw it._

 

“Iwa-chan, aren’t you just _too_ in love with me?” Oikawa teases waving a hand over his eyes. It always takes him less than seconds to change back into his sarcastic asshole suit.

But Iwaizumi does not mind, not when all he can see in front of his eyes is Oikawa Tooru smiling at him, and looking at him, moving his face in so close it feels like all he has ever looked at is Iwaizumi, and Iwaizumi alone.

“Well, I just might be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm supposed to be writing a literature review for my master course and submitting it in 6 days but I just can't. So my solution fot not being able to write is to write something else, which is why we have this chapter here.  
> I've been thinking about writing something else with more plot and... sunshine and rainbow and all that. But I suck at fluff so bad I feel ashamed of myself for even having the notion that I could do it. If I ever do write that fluff though, it'll be another couple, which I've hinted in this chapter *winks winks*  
> Anyways, I hope you'll have as much fun reading this as I do! (fun is not the right word but well...)


End file.
